


Abyssinian

by attackofthemutantcheesecake



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF John, Catlock, birthday fic, but only a little and just because
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-03
Updated: 2013-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-22 07:39:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/910622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/attackofthemutantcheesecake/pseuds/attackofthemutantcheesecake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where Sherlock and John are cats. Even as different breeds, they use each other well.</p>
<p>
  <i>Birthday fic for the lovely katzensprotte. You should check her out on tumblr.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Abyssinian

**Author's Note:**

  * For [katzensprotte](https://archiveofourown.org/users/katzensprotte/gifts).



John injured his foreleg pushing a stray runt-of-the-litter away from the starved mongrel next door to his human's home.

The dog managed to get a solid swipe at him before the chain could yank it back, and the pain was intense but otherwise fleeting. He checked to see that the poor kitten was on its way out of the sparse garden then dragged himself back to the line of Molly's property to settle in for a wait.

She returned home in an hour and a half to spot him lying in the neatly trimmed grass, bleeding all over her roses. She muffled a scream. He blinked up at her and glanced down the bleeding puncture on his left shoulder where the white shine of bone could be seen under sandy fur.

Another hour later and he was bandaged and pleasantly sedated, curled up on crinkly paper lining the examination table. He couldn't feel his injured leg, but he could walk fine with three.

\---

Two months after enough physical therapy to regain use of his leg and John was frustrated by his inability to climb. His breed loved to perch on high places where they could see more of the world, but three legs weren't enough to hoist himself up on the sofa let alone a low lying branch.

He sulked for a few days and refused to leave the house.

The warmth of rare sunshine finally lured him back into the garden where he discovered that nosing into every nook and cranny at ground level was more than enough to keep him occupied. It seemed that while his eyes were always tilted up to find where he could clamber onto next, he neglected to explore what was normally at eye level. His compact frame and natural flexibility allowed him to become less than soundless even when navigating through the maze of rose bushes at the periphery of the garden.   
Not a single leaf would stir without his intention, not a strand of fur would be caught in the thorns.

Molly rewarded his return to good behavior by taking him to her next high tea with Mrs. Hudson from a block over. She had an agreeable Russian Blue he'd met already, and it was refreshing to be around other cats especially one as agreeable as Lestrade. They chased off pigeons that would peck at breadcrumbs their humans threw to attract the birds, racing to see who could get closest before they flew away. The rest of the afternoon passed in a pleasant haze and the two roused themselves from basking in the sun when they heard their humans begin the elaborate departure ceremony.

Something caught John’s attention as they were walking back inside. His eyes skimmed over a grey and black pattern that was out of place behind the hydrangeas bordering Mrs. Hudson's patio. A moment later, green too light to be leaves stared straight at him through a bunch of blue flowers and was gone as quickly as it appeared.

John padded silently across the stone flooring and searched warily through the gaps in the bushes for another glimpse of the unusually spotted coat. He was about to venture through the foliage to get a better view, but a dark blur almost knocked him back. Long limbs propelled a proportionally long body over a few feet of grass and up the low brick wall surrounding Mrs. Hudson's yard.

It wasn’t just him who saw it. Molly made a startled sound behind him, "Oh! I think that was a stray. You should add a few inches to top off your wall so they can't get in here." 

"That was just Sherlock, dear. He comes and goes often, looks too well bred to be a stray, but he doesn't do much more than stalk around my flowers and try to sniff the ground like he should be a dog. Gregory tolerates him just fine so I let him do as he pleases."

They left just after the exchange. John spent the walk home trying to put his paws on Sherlock's breed. Something not entirely domestic, he was sure. Most likely closer to their wild cousins than any house cat. He put it out of his mind when he discovered a rabbit hole in the empty lot a few houses over from theirs, but it came to him as he was settled in for sleep at the foot of Molly's bed.

Bengal.

\---

It was two weeks before he saw Sherlock again. Mrs. Hudson brought Lestrade to his human's house this time with the grey, black spotted Bengal in tow.

"A few days after you came to visit, he just stayed. I couldn't very well leave him outside in the rain and it isn't as if another cat is any imposition on me. In fact, I'd be glad for the company."

"Aren't they a little hard to care for though? I remember a mate who told me once that they’re notorious for getting destructive when bored."

"Gregory keeps him busy. It's quite amusing to see. They've brought me more dead mice than I'd care to see in a lifetime."

John sat by Molly's chair to observe Sherlock prowling around outside. He was easily distracted by anything that even remotely moved, but his focus was absolute once his gaze landed on something in particular. A quick glance showed Lestrade purring away, being petted on Mrs. Hudson's lap so he padded outside to watch closer.

Sherlock's ears perked up when he saw John coming and walked over purposefully to meet halfway. John stopped, letting the other continue into a circle around him. He kept still at the perusal and only twitched in irritation when a paw began to reach over to tap at his left foreleg. It still vibrated with a fine tremor when he thought about it too much. He glanced wistfully at one of the few trees in the garden and approximated a shrug when he tilted his head up to meet Sherlock's laser stare again.

John patted the ground in front of Sherlock and gave him a hard look. _Stay_ it meant.

He turned and loped under the short staircase that led to Molly's kitchen and bit the tail end of a dull blue handkerchief he'd stowed there. He dragged the bundle over to where Sherlock was dutifully sat and batted the top layer of fabric away to reveal a good sized pigeon. He waited almost an hour behind a gnarled root just that morning until the rustle of strategically placed dead leaves alerted him that his prey was close enough to try for a kill. There was minimum damage to the body because he managed to swipe neatly at its neck, and aside from a few twisted feathers and the minimum spatter of blood, it was good as new.

It was a gift to show that Sherlock was welcome to anything in the garden, despite it being John's territory. Sherlock came closer to sniff delicately at the body and slowly lifted a paw to unsheath his claws. He used one to slice deeply into the pigeon's chest, blood oozing out of the incision and down to the grass. John merely tilted his head, amused when Sherlock began to nose into the opening to drag out entrails and spread them beside the handkerchief. They spent a few moments examining the former contents of the pigeon's body cavity, teeth bared in twin predatory smiles.

Sherlock's interest dimmed soon and he began to push the emptied body off the cloth underneath it, careful to keep the blood from smudging on the blue too much. John watched curiously as Sherlock flipped and folded it until there was a loop on the ground then hooked his paw through the opening to bring the handkerchief over his head so he could worm it around his neck. He stepped on one end and moved to the side to tighten the knot then bit and shredded through the ends until they were no longer dragging on the ground.

Molly's shrill squeal distracted John from watching Sherlock make himself, for all intents and purposes, a scarf. He turned blue eyes up to see the disgust on his human's face as she toed the forgotten pigeon carcass.

\---

They saw more of each other after that. More than their humans’ periodic meetings for tea, Sherlock sometimes trekked the block to meet John or the other way around. They roamed along the alleys beside and behind the houses to look for discarded human items that interested them. There were more dissections as well. Sherlock didn't have enough patience to lure a prey close enough for a clean kill so John took to giving him presents whenever they stayed at Molly's; pigeons, rats, occasionally a rabbit or two, and a memorable instance with a lizard almost half his size (he thinks it was probably a neighbor's escaped pet, but to be fair it tried to bite him first).

They were an efficient tandem. John squeezed into small spaces and maneuvered around precariously arranged rubbish with ease. Sherlock could climb high and was especially good at manipulating things with his forepaws despite the lack of opposable thumbs. Sherlock shortened his long legged stride so John could walk comfortably with his limp. John mapped routes around the neighbourhood so even Sherlock’s larger frame could go unnoticed. They hunted together, one leading the chase so the other could pounce.

Lestrade, glad for the occasional reprieve from Sherlock’s usual restlessness in the house when they were left together, generally kept out of the way and used the time to catch up on sleep.

What cemented their companionship into a true friendship happened two days before Christmas.

Sherlock was late for their usual meeting, but John didn’t mind waiting a bit longer so he could enjoy the view. Snow had come in a few days ago but tonight was the first substantial snowfall. White blanketed every conceivable surface and went undisturbed. He couldn’t wait to get wet scrambling around in it then sulking so pitifully that Molly would bring him under the covers with her to sleep.

When the two hour mark passed, John decided to go to Mrs. Hudson’s and check if Sherlock was occupied with something else and had forgotten to come.

Lestrade was at the open back gate like he was expecting John. A gray paw motioned to the middle of the yard where Sherlock was in a one sided hissing match with another full grown Bengal. This one was an inch or two bigger, not as slender as Sherlock but no less lithe. He sported the same markings on deep reddish-brown fur and, when he flicked lazy eyes up to look at the newcomer, similar green ones shaped too close to Sherlock’s that they couldn’t be anything else but brothers.

It was almost comical if John wasn’t impatient to bury himself in snow so he sidestepped Lestrade and walked deliberately closer to the two. Sherlock barely spared him a glance, hissing and spitting angrily at his brother who only flicked an ear and blinked in subtle disapproval. John let a purr rumble in his chest, the one he used before toying with prey, and relaxed on his back legs.

Sherlock made the distinction and stepped back, eyeing him warily.

John propelled himself forward as if to pounce, startling the brown Bengal into rearing up, only to crouch low and veer to the side. He darted forward so they were aligned and breaking sharply, he threw himself sideways for a heavy collision, claws extended to dig deep. He unhooked them to disengage from the momentum so he could control his fall and bared his teeth in satisfaction when he landed on his feet.

He regained his balance almost immediately and let out a long low hiss, back arching and hair standing on end. He was gearing up to charge again when Lestrade butted against his flank. The Russian Blue gave a single rough jerk of the head and turned to approach Sherlock’s brother.

The wind went out of his sails. He sat, noting absently that his leg lacked its usual tremor.

Lestrade helped the other cat up and leaned in slowly, tongue out to lap at the beaded blood staining brown fur. When there were no more outward signs of injury, he steered them toward the smaller front yard while shaking off the gathered powdery snow on his head.

Just as they rounded the corner, John startled when he felt a familiar vibration against his side. Sherlock gifted him with a rare, throaty purr that still seemed smug over the glimmer of gratitude. He was warmer than John expected. The shorter fur could almost be silkier than any Persian’s.

Then quickly as it came, the contact was gone. A black tail bumped his nose when Sherlock turned to make a dramatic stalking exit through the gate. Green eyes flashed, reflective in the moonlight when they looked back impatiently. Waiting.

John got up to follow.

**Author's Note:**

> I did actually do some research for breed temperament and I think I matched them up well with how I think the BBC Sherlock cast would look as kitties.
> 
> John is an Abyssinian - extroverted, extremely active, playful, willful and intelligent. They need a great deal of love and interaction with the family to keep them happy and generally get along well with other cats. They are sensible cats that do not take unnecessary risks. As one might expect from such an intelligent and physically capable breed, Abyssinians are known to be formidable hunters.
> 
> Lestrade is a Russian Blue - never unpredictable or aggressive. It is a cat you can trust, and it will never let you down. It becomes very closely attached to the people in its family; perhaps it gets especially attached to one or two members. It makes demands of the owner, but if you are prepared to meet these demands, you will have a wonderful companion.
> 
> Sherlock and Mycroft are Bengals - a highly interactive breed that thrives on company. Younger ones often do not do well with working owners and can become aggressive and destructive through boredom. They like exploring and are no respecter of ornaments or photographs. Often cat aggressive, many will terrorise not just their own household but neighbors as well. They can respond aggressively to discipline and often fight amongst themselves.


End file.
